In Deep: Chase & Emma (All In Book 1) (19 page)

But I wasn’t any
more. I wanted off of that train. I felt nervous about telling him
about it. He might get angry, feel confused and betrayed. But it
wasn’t too late. If we had the conversation now, complete with my
assurance I wasn’t after that story any more, it would be all
right, wouldn’t it?

“Emma!” Tori
sounded blazing drunk. I could picture her, mascara all smudged,
hopefully with her clothes still covering all her naughty bits.

“Are you OK?” I
asked. At least it sounded quieter now.

“Shag-a-delic, baby!”
She burst out into laughter. “Remember that stupid movie? August
Powers?”

“Austin Powers.” I
remembered. She had a brother who’d been 13 when
Goldmember
had come out, and he’d pretty much memorized the movie and quoted
it day in, day out until we’d started quoting it ourselves.

“Groovy baby, yeah!”
Gales of laughter from her. Less from me. This might not be the best
time to have the heart-to-heart conversation with my best friend
about my change of heart. You know that dream we’ve both had for
years now? About taking our blog to the next level? I’m out. Not
going to happen.

She babbled, drunk as a
skunk, about Luiz and Paulo and the personal tour they’d given her.
“Water polo, Ems! That’s the way to go.” Apparently they both
played for the Brazilian Water Polo team and they were quite good
with their hands.

“OK, Tori. Let’s
talk tomorrow.”

“It’s all coming
together, Emma! Just like we always wanted. Can’t believe it. All
our hard work. About to pay off!”

“Right.” About
that…

She burst out laughing
again, trying to tell me about something that had happened at some
club but the words weren’t forming right.

“Drink some water and
get some sleep, Tori.” I’d said those words to her before. I’d
have to talk to her tomorrow.

“Night bestie!”

“I’ll call you
tomorrow.” I wondered if she’d still call me bestie after I
pulled the plug. She was counting on my big story, my exposé, the
type of feature I had right in my wheelhouse, capturing the heart of
a gripping story.

It wasn’t going to
happen. I couldn’t do it to Chase. But I still felt sick over it,
and unresolved, too, since I hadn’t been able to actually talk to
her about it yet. There was nothing I hated more than anticipating a
nasty conversation. My stomach was all tied up in knots.

I folded my shirts and
socks like I had a vendetta against them. They’d done me wrong.

“I hope it’s not me
you’re angry about.” Chase walked into the laundry room, looking
freshly-showered and devastatingly gorgeous. Those ice blue eyes and
superhero shoulders did it to me every time.

“Hey.” I wrapped my
arms around him, sinking into him in a deep kiss. Resting my head
against his chest, I explained I’d just gotten off the phone with
Tori. “She was off-her-ass drunk. I hope she’s all right. She was
partying all night with some random guys in Rio.”

“I’m sure she’s
fine,” he reassured me. “You’re always taking care of other
people, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, not ready
to accept his kind words. I had a secret I was keeping from him, and
I hated doing it. But I needed to wrap things up with Tori before I
confessed.

“Come on.” He
tugged my hand. “Let me help you carry all this back to the room.
You know you can have a service take care of laundry, right?”

“I don’t pay other
people to do my laundry for me,” I snapped at him, somehow seeming
to imply that he was spoiled. Nice, Emma. He picked up my laundry
basket.

“Good thing my help
comes free of charge.” He smiled at me, still nice even with me
crackling with bitchy electricity. It brought a tear to my eye.
“Hey.” He pulled me to him and gave me another big hug. “Let’s
head up to the hotel room. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but
everything’s going to be all right.”

I nodded, wanting to
feel completely reassured by his words. But until he had complete
information about what was bothering me, it wasn’t going to happen.

Chase

Something was up with
Emma. I didn’t know what, but she was jumpy and tense. She clearly
had something on her mind, but I didn’t know her well enough yet to
understand what it was. Something could have happened at home or back
at her workplace. She could have gotten some bad news. But when I
asked her, she said it was nothing and she was fine.

In my experience with
women, and granted I didn’t have too much successful experience,
that was the equivalent of issuing a massive storm warning. Nothing
signaled trouble like a woman brushing you off because everything was
fine. Oh shit, buy out the canned goods, the storm of the century was
about to hit.

But it also could be
pre-Olympics jitters. She wasn’t about to compete, but everyone on
and associated with the team was feeling it. It was our last day in
Atlanta and everyone was acting loopy. Most of my teammates were
off-the-walls, randomly high-fiving, fist-bumping and chest-thumping.

But not everyone was
caught in the throes of emotional highs. That afternoon I’d found a
teammate of mine sitting on the floor in a hallway sobbing so hard
she could barely breathe. She was only 16 and it was her first time
away from home. She was covered in snot and told me she wished she’d
never started swimming. It was the worst thing that had ever happened
to her. The games were going to be an epic disaster.

I sat with her a while,
giving her my jacket to blow her nose into. I didn’t need it
anyway. I told her a couple of funny stories about my first Olympics
in Beijing back eight years ago. I’d gotten lost in the Olympic
village every single time I’d set foot out of my condo. And when
we’d circled the main arena in the majestic, celebratory opening
ceremony? I’d tripped, and it had been caught on camera, gawky
18-year-old me barely managing to prevent a full-body, face-first
sprawl across the ground.

That seemed to cheer
her up. “I can’t believe that,” she shook her head, as if she
clearly thought me above all mortal actions like getting lost or
tripping. “I mean, you’re Chase Carter!”

“Well, you’re
Lizzie Christopher.” I elbowed her, trying to get her to smile.
“I’ve seen you in the pool. You’re going to kill it in Rio. I
think you’re ready to be on a cereal box.”

“Really?” she
asked, eyes wide, bloodshot and puffy.

“Absolutely.” She’d
probably have to wash her face first. But, honestly, I knew a great
competitor when I saw one and the kid was a natural. She just needed
to work on handling all the stress, channeling it into adrenaline to
fuel performance.

After all the talking,
plus I had to head back up to my room to change my shirt, I was late
for the team dinner down in a conference room. Everyone was at round
tables, assigned seating, and I saw an empty space for me up near the
front. Emma was next to her buddy in PR, Megan, toward the back of
the room. We gave each other a brief nod, but I had to head up to my
place. I knew coach was going to talk to all of us tonight, and he
wanted me to say a few words as well. Public speaking was not my
thing, but I’d do it. I understood the team saw me as a leader, and
I needed to step into that role.

Making toast after
toast, everyone was amped up. It was really happening! We were
heading to the Olympics! A microphone got passed around and most of
the coaches plus half my teammates grabbed it, talking about how they
couldn’t believe it, after all those years of hard work, all the
plans and hopes and dreams were all now ours to reach out and grab.

Once we’d finished
dessert, our head coach stood up and called all of our attention. I
figured he was going to give us his standard motivational speech,
reminding us how we needed to keep our heads down and push it. But,
instead, he told us a story that had all of us wiping our eyes and
clearing our throats.

Coach talked to us
about a kid in California who’d spent his childhood in and out of
the hospital with a rare genetic blood disease. While most kids had
been out running around, invited to birthday parties and playing
sports, he’d spent his days in isolation, wracked with pain, his
growth severely stunted. He hadn’t felt much like living until his
mom had heard about something called the Special Olympics. She’d
called up the organizer, gotten him in the pool and there he’d
found his reason to live, with teammates, experiencing the joy of
moving through the water, and a remarkable freedom from pain when he
got caught up in the excitement of swimming.

“That’s what the
games are all about,” he told us, barely a dry eye in the room.
“The Olympics are a celebration of the human spirit. There’s a
lot of focus on medals and podiums. But I’ll tell you what it’s
about. The games are about hope. They’re about challenging yourself
to do the impossible. The games are about being the best you can be.”

Damn, did he know how
to make us feel pumped up. I felt it, deep in my bones. I’d trained
my whole life for this moment and I was ready.

After coach spoke, he
looked over at me. I nodded, understanding what he wanted. I stood up
and took the mic.

“I want you all to
know,” I said from the front of the room, all eyes on me. “I’m
proud to be your teammate.” I took a moment to look around, seeing
the faces I’d grown so accustomed to every day, every morning, noon
and night as we trained. “I look around this room and I see some of
the hardest working people I’ve ever met.”

Lizzie, looking a lot
happier than I’d seen her in the hallway, started the applause and
I gave it a moment before it died down. I pointed to the shirt I now
wore, our USA team jersey. “It’s a pretty amazing opportunity to
head to the games wearing these colors. It’s a privilege. Let’s
do it right. Let’s show Rio our best. Respect the other athletes.
And bring it. Let’s go represent!”

Everyone jumped to
their feet, clapping and cheering wildly. There were hugs and tears
and all sorts of emotions as we all wished each other well. Our head
coach, the toughest ex-military son of a gun I’d ever known, came
over and gave me a bear hug.

“That’s my boy.”
He ruffled my hair, though I had a good four inches of height on him.
He’d been like a father to me over the past few years, pushing and
demanding but always with the understanding he did it because he
believed in me. Now it was time to make it happen.

By the time the room
started to clear out and I was able to disengage myself from
conversation, Emma had gone. Without coming over to talk. Something
was up with her. I was going to find out what it was. I didn’t do
this whole avoid and deny thing. When I saw an issue that needed to
be addressed, I went for it.

I took the stairs.
Elevators could wait for when I had more patience. She answered her
door after the first knock, likely expecting my arrival.

“Hey. That was a
great speech you made.” She looked shy and slightly nervous,
stepping to the side and looking down at the carpet.

“Thanks. We need to
talk.” The four most dreaded words in the English language. Her
attention snapped right up. Yeah, I didn’t like it, either. There
were many things I’d enjoy doing more that could still involve our
mouths and occasional words like “yes” and “more.” But we had
some less fun stuff to get out of the way first.

“Is everything OK?”
She sounded anxious.

“I don’t think so.”
I took her hand and led her over to the couch. At least we could sit
together while we talked, preferably with her on my lap. I loved the
feel of her ass against me, so round and tight but soft, too. I
pulled her onto me and she settled in like we were made for each
other. But she still held her body tense and rigid.

“What’s up?” I
asked her, cupping her chin and looking into her eyes. No avoidance,
no denial. If something was wrong I needed to know.

“Nothing,
everything’s fine.”

“Bullshit.” I
wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t having it. Everything about her from
the tentative tone of her voice to the guarded look in her eyes told
me otherwise.

“I guess I’m just
worried about us and what’s going to happen when we get to Rio.
After Rio.”

“That’s a lot to
try to figure out right now.”

“I know. But I feel
myself…I feel kind of strongly about you already and we don’t
even know each other that well yet. It’s almost frightening,
feeling out of control like this.”

“I know.” I wrapped
my arms around her waist, stroking her lower back. “I know how you
feel.”

“It’s not…” She
was really struggling for words, and as much as I wanted to swoop in
and kiss her and reassure her everything was fine, I knew she needed
to get it out, get it off her chest. Then I could get on with letting
her know she had nothing to worry about. “I’m worried, when you
really get to know me—”

“I know you.” I had
to stop her there. She was a good person. I could sense it the first
time I’d met her. Everything I’d learned about her since had
bolstered that assumption. She might doubt herself, but I didn’t
doubt her, not for a second.

“Come here.” I drew
her to me, close. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird and I
could feel her shaking against me, she’d gotten herself so worked
up. “Shhh.” I stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, trying to
release the tension out of her body.

“There’s nothing to
be scared of,” I reassured her. “Don’t you feel how good it is
between us?”

“I do,” she agreed,
but she still looked down and away. “But I can’t help worrying—”

“Here’s the thing.”
She looked up and I realized I’d started using my authoritative
coaching voice, the tone I used when I needed to drive home a point.
“You can get all messed up in here.” I tapped her forehead
lightly. “We all can. We can waste a hell of a lot of time
wondering what if, imagining worst case scenarios, getting so worked
up we actually sabotage what’s happening right now.”